


Pranks, Mischief, and Amnesia

by 8crystalwolf_fx8



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Chemistry, F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 12:24:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3896197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8crystalwolf_fx8/pseuds/8crystalwolf_fx8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>OC- Sirius Black's daughter. NOT a Harry Potter love story. Add Sophie Black, the Weasley twins, and a castle full of magic and what do you get? A hefty prescription of headache medication for McGonagall. How did this girl turn into someone even more disruptive and wild than her father was in high-school?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

My earliest memory was, strangely enough, of a book. Not that I could read at the time, but just seeing it there, staring at it... and knowing that I wanted it. So that is how I, in the middle of a city whose name I never bothered to learn with a parent who never bothered to wonder where I had gone off to, stole my first book.

Being the six year old that I was, I could barely reach the top of the table in the busy market square, so I decided to ask for some help.

-"Mister! Mister!" I shouted at the man behind the booth, making sure that my eyes were nice and wide and that the skirt Tasaria had just bought me was free of dirt and wrinkles. Shop vendors always seemed to be nicer if you looked 'like a little lady'. 

-"Yes, girl?" He shot a quick look behind me and my own gaze strayed to the book. Its dull green cover was sitting there, mocking me. "Where's your mother?"

-"She went to go meet daddy for lunch," I made up, "she told me to come here because you had a book she wanted though. She said I could be a big girl and buy it all by myself!" Vendors also seemed more relaxed when I acted, as Tasaria put it, "young and innocent" or, as I saw it, stupid. 

-"Well of course darling," he smiled showing off the gaping holes in his teeth. Ew. "Do you remember what it was called?"

-"No, mister," I let my eyes slide downwards as they watered slightly. "Oh! but I do know what it looks like."

The shop owner, momentarily startled by having almost accidentally made a little girl cry, nodded encouragingly at me. 

-"She said it was big and dark green with those little swirly patterns on the cover... and one of those belt things!" I exclaimed waving my arms in large, exaggerated circles. 

-"Well lucky for you I seem to have one of those right here! You see normally something of this quality would sell for no less than 20 pounds but since you've been such a good girl, I'll give it to you for 15!"

Now, even at this time I was savvy enough to know this guy was trying to rip me off. Suddenly, I didn't feel bad at all about the whole stealing thing. Not that it was ever really discouraged by my family in the first place. 

-"Thank you Mister! Do you... do you think that I could see it first though... just to make sure?" I made sure to fidget and look embarrassed. Moving just so that the polished silver of my bangles caught the sun. I knew he was caught the minute he zeroed in on my jewelry. Observation number three, vendors like shiny things. 

-"Alright darling but you'll have to be really careful with it alright?" 

I smiled in response. He carefully handed me the book and I made a big show of turning it over and even flipping a couple of the pages. I then tucked it under my arm and reached for a pouch hanging off my belt the way Tasaria always did when she was going to buy something. The vendor began to relax and pay more attention to oncoming potential customers and, as soon as his back was turned, I bolted. Seconds later I could hear his furious shouts and loud feet as he tried to make his way towards me through the crowds of people. Unfortunately for him, I was small and slipped through the giants' legs. Unfortunately for me I wasn't looking where I was going and ran right into a particularly large pair of legs only to look up and find myself staring right into the eyes of a cop. 

Well crap. 

Think, think, think! But nothing came and so I did the only thing I could. I cried. Big, long, heaving, LOUD sobs. The man looked so terrified he took a step back and off I went. Going as fast as my little legs could take me, I didn't stop until I was well out of the city and in the woods hiding behind a tree. That was the most traumatizing experience of my early life. 

A slow smile stretched across my features as I held the book tighter.

And it was absolutely brilliant.


	2. Chapter 2

"SOPHIE!" A series of crashes and bangs could be heard as the old woman came tumbling down the stairs, "COME BACK HERE YOU BLASTED CHILD!!!"

She looked rather ridiculous, well she always looked ridiculous but particularly so at this moment, running around in a bathrobe with her hair all wrapped up in a towel. The remnants of an expensive avocado paste strewn about her face made her look kind of like a mummy. At least, what should have been an avocado paste, but not quite. I smiled wickedly from my spot up in the rafters as I held the bottle of the face cream I had switched out with my newest experiment. She would search for hours with no results. I mean who would think to look up? No one, and that's exactly why I never got caught. 

I giggled slightly and stood. This game was getting boring so I ran back along the wooden rafter at a speed that would give most mothers a heart attack. Balancing my weight from one foot to another along the thin ledge, I sped up as the door came in sight. Finally, I jumped, feet first, into the safety of my room, slamming and locking the door behind me. 

Plopping down on my bed, I folded my legs beneath me. Some part of my subconscious registered the banging on the door and outraged cries of our landlady but I was intently focused. I carefully pulled out the green volume that I had all but worshipped for the three years since I had stolen it. It was no longer alone and was kept hidden with all of the other books I had pocketed under a loose floorboard near the bed. 

"A Fun Guide For the Closet Scientist," I read. And fun it was. 

I flipped through to the marked page and re-read the instructions. 

Paper Mâché  
Pour some white flour into a large bowl  
Gradually add water while stirring until you reach your desired consistency.  
Take strips of paper and dip them into the mixture, using them to cover the object of your choice. (Several layers may be necessary)  
Let dry

Underneath I had added my own note that consisted of an additional ingredient: Green dye. Thank Merlin the old bat was half blind or she would have definitely noticed the clumps of color. Poor Mrs. Elmer had never known that when she went to cover her pinched, haughty face with her "rejuvenating" cream that the layer of goo would quite literally have to be scrapped away. The thought brought me so much joy that I skipped over to the small window, opened it, and dropped down onto the street. 

I was greeted by the busy crowds and gray buildings that made up London. This place was the closest thing I’d ever had to a permanent residence as Tasaria and I had lived here for a grand total of 11 months. “I might just have to throw a party if we make it to a full year,” I mumbled. I followed the familiar path through the marketplace to the rough iron gates of St. Mary’s Academy. Jumping behind the brick posts that made up the framework of the gate, I reached for the satchel that never left my side and pulled out a long silvery cloak. I held it for a moment. This cloak had been my seventh birthday present from Tasaria and useful since day one. She had ‘borrowed’ it from my father’s house as they came to clear out all of his possessions. That tends to happen when you become one of the most notorious criminals in all of Britain; the Ministry appropriates your stuff. So, in this case, I rather like to believe that she saved it. 

I threw it over my shoulders and vanished. Clambering up the side of the bricks, I carefully made my way over the fence. As soon as my feet hit the ground, I took off in a sprint. I wasn’t late, but the rush that came with running always made it worth it. By the time I had slipped in, it was early and there were still very few students in the classroom. I silently crept through the open door and took my seat at the very back, directly underneath the broken podium that no one used. I wasn’t technically supposed to be here, seeing as I wasn’t enrolled in the school, but we moved around so much that it was the closest I ever got to an actual education. My guardian had made sure that I knew how to read, write, and work simple math, but apart from that, I had been completely on my own. 

Not ten minutes later, the sound of scrambling students became apparent as the last of the year sevens came rushing in to take their seats before the professor arrived. As if on cue, the professor strode in, scanning the class over the bridge of his long and crooked nose. 

“Take out your notes and turn your textbooks to page 75.” He turned to the chalkboard and began writing. “Now every equation must have the same amount of each element in both the reactants and products. In this particular example you will notice that the sodium on the right side…”

Notes were taken and hands were raised until, all too soon, the bell rang and the students left. Unfortunately for me, I was a bloody nine year old kid that had to keep up with students three years her senior, and so very few topics they discussed made sense to me but I had to try. As my little book of experiments ran out of new material, I had looked for others, but I had neither the background information nor the vocabulary to understand them. 

I had a schedule of sorts. Every Tuesday and Thursday, I would sneak into the back of the room and listen to the professor’s lecture. I would then wait for the next class and hear the same lesson again to try and make sense of a little more. By the third and final class, I generally had a basic understanding of the concepts, and so I would stand to leave, following the teacher’s footsteps like a silent shadow until we reached the gate. 

By that point, I was about ready to burst. I was impatient, claustrophobic, fidgety, and so filled with energy that later even I felt bad for whomever I happened to cross paths with. It was a constant war during those long hours at St. Mary’s between my determination to know and my need to move. Today was no exception. 

“Goodness child, try not to get yourself run over by a car would you?” I let out a little shriek and spun around so fast that I almost lost my balance. 

A young woman stood behind me with long, wild black hair laced with beads and held back by a colorful scarf. Her hazel eyes were unique shade of light green with golden brown creeping around the edges. They contrasted against her heavily tanned skin, just like the long, bright skirt and flowy top that she wore. My crazy high was efficiently zapped but the latent energy remained as I shifted my weight continuously from one foot to another.

“Tasaria!” I smiled. “Did you bring me something?”

One eyebrow rose in mocking offense. “What, no ‘hello, how have you been’? Who raised you?”

“You did,” I deadpanned.

She rolled her eyes slightly. “Yes, that explains it.” She held up a finger to silence me, instinctively knowing that my mouth was already open with another question. “And before you ask again, yes, I brought you back a present.”

Reaching into her bag, she pulled out something small and golden. 

“A key? What am I supposed to do with that? You didn’t ever bother to get me whatever it opens!” Her amusement only infuriated me further when I was cut off before I could go on a self-righteous and completely justified tangent. 

“I find it very unlikely that anyone would have enjoyed me carrying the thing that this unlocks in my back pocket. Unless you would rather explain why a door was ripped off its hinges?” 

I froze, waiting for her to start laughing and flounce away into the distance the way she always did. “You can’t be serious…” She remained expressionless. “A house?! You bought a house?!” 

“Not bought per se…” she began slowly.

“Pllleeaase tell me you didn’t steal it.”

There was no faking her hurt look this time. “How careless do you think I am? Of course I didn’t steal the key to someone else’s house! It’s yours! The Ministry,” her lip curled in distaste at the word, “has finished sorting through Sirius’s possessions. It’s an heirloom of sorts and is sealed off so that only the Head of House or heir to the House of Black may enter. Trust me when I say that’s the only reason they even disclosed that it exists.”

“But… Why would you give it to me now? We’re just going to move soon anyway.” 

Her gaze became distant. “Yes, I will...”

“Umm, Tasaria? The house? You know those can’t move, right?” This conversation needed to end, and fast. She was starting to lose concentration and that was impossible to get it back once it was gone. 

She shook her head. “Yes, we are moving soon but you can use it as a-,” she struggled to find a word to fit the foreign concept, “-a home base. I know it has a rather extensive library to add to your little collection.” 

The fact that she knew about my books stunned me. Not that she couldn’t have easily found out if she had wanted to, after all she was a much better thief than I was, but I’d just never thought she’d cared enough to look. 

“Alright,” I agreed hesitantly. “Where is i-” She didn’t give me a chance to finish my sentence as she suddenly grabbed my hand. Instantly, I felt a tugging sensation near my navel and my surroundings twisted and shifted in a blur of colors until I found myself alone on a muggle street. I cautiously stepped forward, only to do a double take when two nearby buildings began to move. They pulled apart to reveal a black, gothic house. 

“Of course it’s the creepy one that pops out of nowhere.” I muttered. Steeling myself for the worst, I walked up to the front door, fit the key into the lock, and turned it. As the door swung open I squinted into the darkness, waiting for my eyes to adjust. There was no time to take anything in as a blood-curdling screech filled the hall.

“BLOOD TRAITOR!”


	3. Chapter 3

“Bloody hell!” I cursed, jumping back and slamming the door shut. “Nobody told me I’d be rooming with a harpy!”

Leaning against the wall, I took a moment to calm my heartbeat. However, the peace didn’t last long as, slowly, a hard glint entered my eyes. So this was how it was going to be? Well, too bad. The moment I accepted that key, this house became mine and I damn well wasn’t going to give up just because the place was a little creepy. Call it a character flaw, but I was never the type of person who could let anything go unfinished. 

Straightening my back and upturning my nose slightly, I swung the door open with a bang, immediately searching for a light switch. The shrieking, which had not stopped since I entered, was extremely distracting and I had to keep myself from flinching every few seconds. Luckily for me, I didn’t really need to focus as I found the hallway in front of me to be already illuminated. Frowning, I realized that, even with the light, the depressing color scheme made the interior look dark. 

Now for the part I’d really rather not do. I crept silently towards the source of the noise and lowered my center of gravity so I was well below an adult’s line of vision. Frankly, I could have come parading in with bells and whistles and it would have still been impossible to hear me over that woman’s dreadful screaming. 

The noise seemed to be coming from behind the wall a little ways down the hallway, but no. It was coming from the wall. It was coming from a painting. ‘My God, I really hope I’m not related to this one,’ I thought, horrified at the mere suggestion that I shared blood with this foghorn of a woman.

“Umm hello,” I tried, gritting my teeth to make my wince look like a smile. For a moment I thought I had been successful as dead silence rang through the hall. The woman in the portrait’s beady eyes narrowed at me. They were no less sinister than the perfectly coiffed bun at the base of her skull and stuffy formal robes she wore. Everything from her hair to her clothes to those disquieting eyes matched her family name perfectly, Black. And then the moment ended.

“KREACHER! INTRUDER! GET IT OUT!”

“Now hold on a minute, I own thi-

“KREACHER! MAKE IT LEAVE!”

“Oh would you please just listen for a momen-”

“KREACHEEE-”

“SHUT UP! AS THE HEIR TO THE HOUSE OF BLACK I ORDER YOU TO SHUT UP!”

Silence.

The portrait blinked at me in confusion. “But… that couldn’t be.” Suddenly, her eyes lit up in recognition and her demeanor changed entirely. 

“Bella! My darling Bellatrix, I always knew you would come back!” she cooed. “You cannot imagine how long I’ve had to wait here for someone like you to return. I was terrified that that band of mudbloods and blood traitors had come to take what was left of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Salazar knows what they would have-” and so the rambling continued. 

Mental. The woman was completely mental. I backed away slowly as she continued to talk happily to herself, dropping the most vile of insults as if they were remarks on the weather. Eventually, I felt the heel of my foot bump against something solid and glanced down to find a stair. Making sure to not completely turn my back to the portrait, whoever that woman was she was scary enough for me to doubt the fact that she couldn’t come crawling out of that frame like a monster, I began to make my way up the steps.

I stumbled slightly when my shoe caught on a piece of old wood and fell sideways, my nose brushing against something rather rubbery. Raising my eyes I found myself face to face with pale, waxy skin and yellowed teeth that were partially rotten. Both were forgotten the moment I locked gazes with those large, glassy eyes, frozen open in a crazed expression. 

I shrieked, throwing myself backwards against the banister and putting as much room between me and it as i could. It took me a moment to realize that the head did not follow. Actually, it was just a head, or a series of them to be precise. There, on the wall across from me, was a line of taxidermied busts that I could only assume belonged to the house elves who had served my family. 

Groaning in disgust I pushed myself to a standing position and hurried up the rest of the staircase. At the top, poised almost like an umbrella stand would be at an entry way, was yet another stuffed house elf. This one, however, was whole. Thoroughly disturbed, I did my best to look away from it and, instead, to try my luck with one of the doors on this floor.

Just as I went to move forwards, a cold, clawed hand wrapped itself around my ankle. Luck, decidedly, was not on my side today. Fighting to stay calm I dared a glance but was unable to look away from the unnaturally light blue eyes of the certainly not stuffed house elf. 

“Mistress called for Kreacher. Kreacher must ask strange thief to leave before Kreacher must punish them.” Something oddly sadistic glinted in his eye with that last statement.

“But I…” oh screw it. I turned and bolted down the stairs, out the door, and onto the street. I could go get some food and then find a nice, safe tree to spend the night in. This wasn’t giving up, I would try again in the morning. Or at least I hoped I’d be able to make myself go back there in the morning. 

...

I woke alongside the sun as it began to peak over the London skyline. Now sleeping in a tree has many advantages, but comfort is not one. This translated into me spending a good ten minutes trying to work out the various kinks that had formed in my neck and back. 

Once I was sure that I was completely awake, I decided it was about time for me to figure out where I was. From what I had seen earlier, I assumed that the house was currently uninhabitable and unless I wanted to have to yet again resort to a tree, I needed to find my way back to Mrs. Elmer’s. 

Right as the thought to ask for directions entered my mind, I noticed a middle-aged man making his way down the sidewalk. He was unremarkable and ordinary in every aspect and that, to me, made approaching him seem like a breath of fresh air. 

“Excuse me sir, but I think I got off the underground at the wrong stop. Could you tell me where we are?”

Seemingly surprised at my enthusiasm, he nodded. “Sure thing, this is the borough of Islington.”

“Thank you sir! I’ll just be on my way then.” I held up my hand in a two-fingered salute and started off down the road, leaving him staring behind me. I had encountered a bus stop on last night’s scavenge for food and now planned on taking the same route to grab some breakfast along the way. As soon as that was out of the way, I made my way over to the curb and hurried to catch up with a couple that was boarding the bus. I hid myself behind the woman’s skirts as she paid the fair, close enough to be mistaken as her child but far enough that she wouldn’t notice. 

Finding a seat near the back, I watched the scenery pass by. While staring out the window, I cleared my mind and finally began to formulate my plan. There were three main problems that I could see with that house:

1) It was hella creepy and in need of serious redecoration  
2) I needed to get rid of that portrait. Or at least find a way to shut it up   
3) The house elf

To solve the first, I needed to fix two and three. I decided to start with the less terrifying option: the portrait. 

The bus arrived at my stop and I made my way to the open window on the side of building I had used to escape before this mess happened. My tiny room was pretty standard compared to the other places I had stayed. Small twin bed against one wall, a little desk in the corner, and an armoire filled with everything but clothes. All of my pants and shirts (because skirts were absolutely stupid, who can actually run in those?) overflowed from the open trunk that took up most of my floor space. It was an organized mess of bright colors and weird nick nacks I had collected over the years. 

Moving over to the armoire, I grabbed the knob and pulled, kicking my trunk back some so that I could fully open the door. Inside, it was the exact opposite of everything around it. There were neat rows of vials and liquids that I had nicked from St. Mary’s that laid on shelves above brushes, pans, measuring devices, and other utensils of all shapes and sizes. I kneeled and removed the false bottom, grabbing the small sack that was tucked away in the corner. I was mostly ‘self- employed’ since people tended to react better to that rather than if I flat out admitted I was a thief. Even if I did get some odd looks, it was always a good idea to carry some cash with me when I planned on being gone for more than a couple hours. With that out of the way, I, yet again, took my leave heading East down the stone roads. 

A bell tinkled as I entered the little bookshop, and the temperature instantly dropped. This was one of the few wizarding bookshops in London outside of Diagon Alley and hopefully they would have what I needed. 

I skipped over to the young woman behind the desk. If she had been a muggle, she would have been attending college, as it was her faded T-shirt and generally unkempt appearance made the resemblance uncanny. 

“Excuse me, you wouldn’t happen to have anything on dealing with unruly paintings, would you?”

She glanced at me over the rim of her glasses, sandy hair slipping forwards from behind her ear. She lifted a bony finger and pointed to the back of the shop. 

“Very back, bottom right.” And that was it. 

Not particularly bothered by her rudeness, I headed straight there. During the time it took me to travel from one end of the store to the other (not very long, mind you), I had absentmindedly flicked at total of four books into the satchel at my hip without her noticing. After all, who was I to judge her for her customer service skills when I had likely just robbed her employer of about 50 pounds. ‘It’s nothing personal,’ I thought. ‘Just business.’

I ended up spending close to an hour flipping through the books until I found the one I wanted. I proceeded to pay for it and then headed out into the busy streets. After a bit of walking, I reached a small park and sat on a bench, flipping through the yellowed pages, looking for the spell that had caught my eye. It was simple enough, designed to put the subject of the portrait to sleep for an average of twenty minutes, give or take five. There was only one problem: I didn’t have a wand. 

Just as I was about to let out an exasperated sigh, a flash of red caught my eye. A kid, roughly looking to be a couple years older than I, was stalking proudly across the grass. If the completely mismatched and odd outfit he was wearing didn't clue me in to his identity, then sleek wand sticking out of his back pocket certainly did. 

It was about mid-August so I guessed he must have been on his way back from Diagon Alley with his brand-new school supplies. Poor kid looked so proud of himself, all that stress must be exhausting, so truly I’d really be doing him a favor by putting him down for a little nap. My eyes twinkled with mischief as I slid into step behind him, following unnoticed until we passed into a rather deserted part of the park. My hand then shot forward and, in a single motion, pulled out his wand and turned it against him. 

“Stupefy!” I yelled, sending him flying backwards into the base of a tree. 

For a moment I thought I had failed as his eyes, only a shade darker than my own, fluttered confusedly. Then he fell limp and I felt relief course through my body. 

‘Not bad for a first try,’ I mused, moving to lift his heavier body off the ground. After a lot of awkward pushing and pulling, I finally managed to get him onto a bench and position his arms and legs to look as if he were sleeping. Hopefully he wouldn’t wake up before I got back so that I could return his wand, leaving him none the wiser. 

With that goal in mind, I sprinted to the nearest bus stop and hopped on just as the doors were closing. Thank Merlin the park was about halfway between Mrs. Elmer’s and the house, or there is no way I would have made it in time. During the ride, I went over the spell I would be casting and muttered it under my breath until it sounded perfect. I was lucky that this was a more aggressive type of magic, the kind that could still function even if it was thoroughly overcharged with magic. Due to certain… aspects… of my heritage, I knew I would never be good at the more delicate wandwork required in most charms, but this I could pull off. Hopefully. 

My descent from the bus was as rushed as my entry and I took off through the half open doors. Vaguely, I noted the driver’s shouts as I had obviously not paid the fare but I just ignored them and continued on. 

The same dull black door with its chipped paint awaited me, squished between two muggle houses. I took a moment to catch my breath, panting with my hands resting on my knees. As I looked up, I found myself level with the doorknob. There wasn’t really any particular reason for me to be staring at it so intently but something just looked… wrong. I straightened and stepped closer, running my fingers along its sleek surface. And that’s when I saw it. 

“Where the hell did the keyhole go?” The doorknob was completely smooth, but so was the patch of metal below it. I tried opening the door and it yielded without resistance, allowing a familiar wailing to leak out onto the street. How very odd. 

Shaking my head, I forced myself to concentrate. Now was not the time to be distracted. Not when I was about to face a house full of nightmares and potentially murderous house elves. I snuck into the dark corridor and quietly closed the door behind me, sealing my fate. 

I padded forwards, softening my footsteps so as not to attract any unwanted attention. This was, as I had mentioned earlier, a rather unnecessary precaution with the racket that the portrait was making, but it still made me feel better. I stopped just shy of the painting and pressed myself to the wall it was hanging on so that the woman would be unable to see me over the frame that contained her. Taking out the stranger’s wand, I readied myself to cast the spell for which my ears would be forever grateful. 

“Tabula somnium,” I whispered, putting as much force into the words as I could. 

The reaction was instant as, suddenly, I heard nothing. Beautiful, wonderful nothing. I barely stopped myself from dancing for joy as I stepping in front of the portrait and found the woman sleeping. She looked so clumsy and vulnerable half draped over the two dimensional chair she was sitting on that it was almost cute. Not. 

I immediately got to work. I started by trying to lift the frame off the wall. “Trying” being the key word here, as I found that it refused to budge. No matter what I did, the blasted painting would not come off the wall. In my frustration, I began to notice something, something that set my teeth on edge and my hair on end. 

I paled. It was quiet, way too quiet. The sudden silence would have alerted the house elf just as effectively as if I had walked through the front door with a siren strapped to my head. My time was up and this attempt had clearly failed, leaving me with only one conclusion: I needed to get out as fast as humanly possible. 

“And what be the thief doing to Mistress?” That dreaded, scratchy voice came from the stairs. I turned to run but found myself frozen in place by an invisible force.

“Mistress warned Kreacher about strange thief. Said he must do everything possible to get rid of it.” From where Kreacher was standing on the bottom stair, the hand that he had outstretched when petrifying me turned inwards and I was made to face him. His palm was now facing up and, one by one, he began pulling his fingers in to make a fist. With each one he put down, my rigid body was dragged closer to him. 

“Kreacher warned thief too. Now Kreacher will be a good elf so that when he dies his head can go on the wall with the other good elves,” he raved. Thieves are like blood traitors, see? Try to take things that don’t belong to them and don’t deserve what they have.” The last part came out in a nearly incomprehensible growl. By then, I found myself inches from his giant, hooked nose. It, like the rest of his skin, had a distinct yellowish tinge that came from both illness and lack of exposure to sunlight. 

Thinking a mile a minute, I forced myself to recall everything I knew about house elves. They were fiercely loyal creatures, defending their masters to their last breath. Clearly this one didn’t see me as his master, so that was doing more harm than it was good. They remained bound to a particular family until they died or were presented with clothing, in which case they were freed. They could not disobey a direct order from the master of their house. Wait… even if Kreacher didn’t see me as his master, I was a direct descendant of the head of house, so that should count. If only I could move my mouth. 

Furrowing my brows, I concentrated as hard as I could on the magic binding my lips in place. I wanted it gone. I pictured peeling it off, layer by layer until there was nothing left. Finally, I felt an odd tingling sensation and, at long last, my mouth was free. 

“My father is head of the house of Black. Seeing as he is… incapacitated that means that I, his only direct descendant and heir, am acting head and your current mistress. As such I order you to release me,” I rushed, the words tumbling out of my mouth. 

At first he seemed to not understand, and then his look turned hopeful. “Master Regulus had a child?”

“Wrong brother.”

Instantly, his expression soured and turned hateful.

“Of course, Master Sirius’s spawn come to take what’s left of the family fortune. Kreacher will obey, but Kreacher will never see Sirius Black as his true master,” he spat. 

“Well, that shouldn’t be too much of a problem because he’s not here, is he?” I retorted. “Now, two things. First I want you to remove this painting from this wall by any means possible,” I shot him a look, “I know you know how. Then I want you to give this hallway a good dusting. The black paint’s depressing me so we’re going to paint it blue.” I nodded resolutely and made my way to the exit. 

“B-blue?” he stuttered. 

“Yup, blue. In the meantime, I have something I need to return, so I’ll be right back!” With that, I left to give that poor wizard his wand back. 

 

Percy POV (just for fun)

I was walking back from Diagon Alley, all by myself, mind you, to rejoin my parents at the muggle restaurant where they waited. They would have never let me go on my own before, but since Ron had forgotten his bag, we were only few blocks over, and I had reached the extremely responsible age of eleven, I managed to convince them that I could. So far, everything had gone smoothly and I was rather proud of my almost-accomplishment. Unfortunately, the same rotten luck that gave me Fred and George as brothers decided it was not to be. 

The peace that had previously dominated the small park was shattered as I heard a shout coming from right behind me. 

“Stupefy!” 

I was propelled forwards and slammed into the unforgiving wood of a tree. Crumpling into a heap, everything was blurry and I could feel myself losing consciousness. The last thing I remembered seeing was a black and beige blob with a pair of bright blue eyes. 

….

I opened my eyes slowly, wincing at the slight throbbing at the back of my neck. I was laying on something flat and solid, and as I turned my head I saw that I was on a bench, my wand lying beside my head. How did I get here? 

Sitting up, I noticed the gentle way the grass swayed in the afternoon light. The oranges and reds reflected exquisitely off the- wait. Afternoon?! What time was it? 

My eyes widened in panic and I took off in the direction of the restaurant a single cohesive thought making its way into my mind. Mum was going to furious!


	4. Chapter 4

I walked into the considerably cleaner hallway and let out a sigh of relief. I was half-expecting my orders to have been completely ignored, but at least this part of Kreacher’s task was complete. Directly in front of where the painting used to hang was a large block of… something. Wait, is that sheetrock?

I stepped closer to find a gaping, rectangular hole in the wall. My eyes travelled back to the rectangular block on the floor. Flipping what I had recognized as the missing piece of wall over, I noticed it was still attached to the back of the portrait. 

“Well, that’s one way to do it,” I admitted, peering into the dark void.

“Has Miss Black returned from her outing?” I closed my eyes, slowly forcing myself to neither flinch nor jump. Clenching my teeth, I pulled my lips back in an imitation of a smile. As unpleasant as it was, appearing carefree and completely in control was my best defense against the house elf until I was sure that there was no way for Kreacher to stab me in my sleep. 

“Yup! If I’m going to be living here then I think it’s about time that I got a tour of the place, don’t you think?” I chirped. His response was an unintelligible grumble as he moved towards the stairs. I followed quietly but soon got tired of the awkward silence. Building my courage, I decided to try for small talk. 

“So, how many floors does this place have?”

“Basement, ground floor, four above it, and the attic,” was his curt reply. Slightly miffed, I did not try again to converse with the moody elf. 

When we reached the first floor, he stopped and waited, looking at me with disdain. He chose not to speak but rather extended his arm in a ‘Well, there it is’ gesture. 

I took the hint. “Alright then, I guess I’ll be right back.” 

I hurriedly made my way down the hall. It branched off into a dead end and a slightly longer hall lined with doors. I opened the first door on the right and found myself in a sorry excuse for a bathroom. The tile was dark, some of the wooden frames rotten, and hundreds of spiders had made their nests in every available corner. Wrinkling my nose in disgust, I closed the door and tried the one next to it. This one led to a bedroom that wasn’t in much better shape. It made me wonder if these people had ever heard of colours, because this house seemed to come in ‘dark’ and ‘darker’ without a hint of variation anywhere. 

The last door led to a little sitting room whose most interesting feature was its large bookshelf. Not to say that the particular shade of green the mold on the couch had taken wasn’t interesting, but I was much more enthralled by the prospective literature. 

The second, third, and fourth floors didn’t offer better results, leaving me to think that the challenge that had originally appeared daunting was actually impossible. Even with the decrepit state of things and Kreacher’s negative attitude, it was something very different that was slowly overtaking my will to keep going: claustrophobia. Every dark wall and narrow corridor seemed to be closing in on me, boxing me in. It got so bad that by the time we reached the fourth floor, I barely registered that Kreacher was ridiculously protective of Regulus’s room or that my father had had an unhealthy obsession with muggle posters depicting scantily clad women. I just wanted to get out. 

At this point, the staircase changed into a freestanding spiral, leading up to what I assumed was the attic. ‘Well, lets get this over with,’ I thought to myself. The suffocating climb almost robbed me of the little control I had left, but it was all worth it the moment I stepped out into the big, open, sunlit room. 

I smiled. “This is what I’ve been looking for.”

The next few weeks passed by in a blur. Between constantly staying on my toes around Kreacher, having quite a few close calls with the many dark items laying around the house, trying to make the damn place at least mildly livable, and keeping myself alive, I found I hardly had time to do anything fun. I made sure to attend my chemistry classes at St. Mary’s but all my pranks, much to the relief of the surrounding community, were temporarily suspended. Unfortunately for said community, having to upholster an entire house with a nonexistent budget made stealing a much more prominent part of my everyday schedule. 

The most satisfying memory I have of that time occurred on a Wednesday morning about two months after I moved into Grimmauld Place. I had recently turned ten and realized that a good scrubbing and a new layer of paint could only get me so far in remodeling the decrepit mansion. While the rooms themselves were now fine, most of the sofas and mattresses were completely rotted through and would need to be replaced. Needless to say, I could not afford to purchase new ones and that kind of theft was rather difficult to pull off without a wand. Just as I had resigned myself to leaving the rooms empty, a steady scraping sound alerted me to Kreacher’s presence. He was carrying a large pile of dark objects, the ones he refused to get rid of and I told him to stuff in the basement, and a rather ugly looking vase floated behind him as he walked past me to reach the stairs. He continued on grumbling under his breath as he always did, completely oblivious to the conspiratorial thoughts slowly forming in my head. Who needs a wand when you have a house elf, right?

“Oh Kreacher!” I trilled. 

He froze and turned to look at me, a distrustful frown marring his features. He had become more tolerable after I allowed him to keep his nasty little trinkets and gave him the basement to do with as he pleased. However, something in my tone had put him on high alert. What a smart little house elf. 

I smiled sweetly and tilted my head so that my wild hair spilled over one shoulder. My hair and clothing were the only parts of my appearance that hinted at my true, less-than-classy personality. Contrarily, the rest of me was the picture of innocence and aristocracy. My big, light grey-blue eyes could charm any stranger while my delicate features, straight nose, and incurably pale skin spoke of careful breeding. The end result was rather off-putting as the long, tangled waves of black hair and boyish clothing clashed with the image of daddy’s little princess. Personally, I was well aware of my attributes and abused them to their fullest extent. Unfortunately, that wouldn’t get me anywhere with a house elf but I could still try. 

“What do you think about going shopping with me for a little bit?” I asked, never faltering in my sickeningly sweet smile.

“Does mistress order it?” He hesitantly answered, moving unconsciously backwards whilst furrowing his brows. 

“Actually, I think she does. Let’s go!” Grabbing my shoes, I slipped them on and headed towards one of the most expensive muggle furniture stores in London. Turning around, I saw Kreacher hesitate by the door and then disappear as he cast a disillusionment charm over himself. I was sure that he would follow me so walked the short distance to London’s more high end neighborhoods. Stopping a few streets away from the furniture store, I ducked into an alleyway and called for Kreacher to make himself visible. 

“Alright Kreacher, here’s how this is going to work. I’m going to go in under my invisibility cloak, can’t have all those muggles staring at me, now can we?” I asked, appealing to his blood-purist views. “Then, I’m going to go around and every time I find an item I like I’m going to put one of these on it,” I pulled a packet of little red sticky notes out of my front pocket. “Once all that is done, I’m going to go deal with the muggle salesmen. In the meantime, I want you to wait until no one is watching, secrecy laws and all that, and then aparate the tagged furniture directly to the house. Do you understand?” I enunciated, keeping continuous eye contact. My phrasing was very deliberate and I could only hope that Kreacher drew the conclusion I was aiming for. 

Looking affronted, he determinately nodded his head.

“Of course mistress Black will not be carrying her own things! Disgraceful, those muggles are, don’t deserve to look at pureblood Mistress.” However much the old elf disliked me, he still stood by the Black family and would not approve of me settling for anything but the best service. He continued grumbling about how unworthy muggles were and how “noble Mistress” was finally starting to act the way she should. Thank Merlin he bought it. 

Technically speaking, nothing I had said was a lie. I did plan on talking to a salesman, but that was mostly to create a distraction so that Kreacher could do his job more quickly. In addition, at no point had I stated that I would actually be paying for anything. So, using my own brand of logic, I had given an accurate account of what we would be doing, a very carefully worded accurate account. 

Kreacher, feeling proud that he could help his mistress get on the right path, didn’t even complain as he vanished to do my bidding.

Grinning, I slipped under my invisibility cloak and followed another customer through the door. I soon chose everything I wanted and began scouting for the employee that would become my victim. Moving to the far corner so that Kreacher would not be able to see me, I ducked behind a large desk and made myself visible. 

And there he was, wandering from wealthy couple to wealthy couple with that perfect business smile held in place. This particular salesman was young, extremely young. He looked to be in his late twenties and had perfectly cropped black hair with an angular face. From the way that some of the older ladies were looking at him, I could tell they certainly found him handsome. Even better was the fact that there was just enough resemblance for this to work. 

“Dead puppy, dead puppy, dead puppy,” I mumbled, getting myself in the right mindset to burst into tears at any moment. 

I threaded my fingers through my hair, tying it half up and, with great disdain, pulled a soft pink bow out of my bag, clipping it onto my hair tie. It went perfectly with my white pants and soft purple T-shirt. I had to take a moment to squeeze my eyes shut and block out the disgustingly girly sight, reminding myself of how nice it would be to have a bed to sleep in again and how amusing the man’s reaction would be before I felt a familiar wave of determination. Show time.

I stepped out from behind the desk, taking care to make sure that no one noticed me practically appearing out of thin air, and glued my eyes to the ground, shuffling awkwardly over to my target. 

“D-daddy?” I asked hesitantly, tugging on his shirt sleeve. 

He cut off in the middle of his speech. He had been trying to convince some elderly couple that they should buy the entire dinning set as opposed to only the main table when I interrupted him. Suddenly, I felt three pairs of eyes landing on me. 

He smile turned strained as he looked me over. 

“Sorry darling, but I think you have me confused with someone else. Now run along and go find your parents.” With a patronizing pat to my head, he turned back to the couple and continued from where he left off, not sparing me another glance. What an arse. 

I lifted my head to make eye-contact with the concerned older lady and let my eyes water. Pretending to look away ashamedly and making a valiant effort of hold back my tears, I began to shake slightly. 

She immediately bent down to my level and asked me what was wrong, shooting the salesman a glare when he tried to bring her attention back to the merchandise. 

“I-it’s just that I know daddy made me promise not to talk to him or call him daddy when we’re in public but mommy said she was busy and just left me here and I’m lost and I know I made him mad but I can’t help it and I just don’t know what to do!” I began to hiccough slightly as I gushed out the rest of my sob story. “And he and mommy never talk to each other anymore and I just want them to stop fighting! He keeps calling her a whore, but I don’t know what that is… Could you tell me what it means?” I polished off my act by glancing up at her, blinking my big blue eyes innocently. 

I noticed her face was slightly flushed with anger and the group of ladies near by had let out an audible gasp. 

“Good God!” she exclaimed holding her hand over her heart. “What have you put this poor child through! Making her grow up in that kind of environment and using that kind of language in front of her! Young man, you have some explaining to do.”

I can honestly say that never before had I seen a woman of her age look so utterly terrifying. For a moment I felt a flicker of pity for the young salesman… and then I remembered that patronizing pat. ‘Take that, jackass’, I thought. 

Meanwhile, the man’s face had lost all colour and his arms waved back and forth frantically as he stuttered to try and defend himself. 

“No, no! you don’t understand! I’ve never seen this child before in my life! There, there, sweetheart,” he intoned, stepping menacingly towards me, “we’re going to find your parents and make this all better, you hear?” There was something vengeful in his tone as he made a grab for me. There was no doubt in my mind that this man had called my bluff and was out for revenge. 

“Please don’t hit me daddy!” I cried. “I’ll be good, I promise I’ll be good!” With that, I let myself collapse onto my knees, whimpering quietly.

“Young man, you step back this instant!” The old woman roared, moving protectively in front of me, hands on her hips and face turning purple. 

We were causing quite a scene and a good half of the store was now crowded around us. I could hear their affronted whispers as the rest of the staff tried unsuccessfully to calm them down. 

“What seems to be the problem here?” a deep, authoritative voice asked. Looking to be in his fifties with greying hair and a polished suit, a man stepped into my line of sight. Something about this man made the crowd lapse into silence. He had a certain presence that screamed power and demanded respect. 

“M-mr. Barveti, sir,” the salesman stuttered, turning even paler. 

“I would assume you are the manager?” The old woman asked, raising an eyebrow. I was starting to really like this lady.

“That would be correct,” he replied gracefully, “may I ask what has caused such a disturbance?” 

And that’s when all hell broke loose.

“This despicable man right here-”

“It’s not what it sounds like sir-”

“I was standing here the whole time! There is no question of-”

“I heard it too! This is a clear case of-”

At one point all of the voices began to merge together to form a cacophony of indignant exclamations and hurried defenses. Allowing a slow, satisfied smile to overtake my features, I quietly crept backwards and ducked under the table, throwing on my invisibility cloak and high-tailing it out of there before they noticed my absence. 

Kreacher was waiting for me at the house with the furniture I (supposedly) bought when I got back. I told him to set up the couches and one of the bookshelves in the living room on the second floor. The rest was for my room and the guest bedroom next to the living as I didn’t see the point of dealing with others when I was never going to use them. 

That night I went to sleep in a bed that was truly mine for the first time in my life and had happy dreams of mice shaped like salesmen being chased down and eaten by cats wearing expensive clothing and shouting “Good God!” at every turn. 

…

Tasaria finally grew sick of London a few weeks later. I suspected her of having already moved on to other places without telling me but this was the official announcement. We travelled South-East for many months and passed through countless cities, never staying for more than a few days at a time. I had her make me an unregistered portkey so that I could go to-and-from the house on a nightly basis. Her unique brand of magic allowed her to make it two-way so that it activated and took me to the house when I used the code word. To get back, all I had to do was repeat the same word and I would end up wherever I had been when I activated it. Yes, Grimmauld Place was becoming home to me. With the walls repainted, the dust cleaned, and Kreacher being civil, it really wasn’t a difficult house to live in. In addition to that, it had the advantage of being solely and uniquely mine. I didn’t have to share it with anyone or deal with people as a general species when I was hidden inside its walls. Essentially, it was the ideal location for quiet reading and illegal experimentation.

My cabinets were now stocked with exuberant amounts of common, rare, useful, not-so-useful and just plain weird ingredients that I used to form everything from reactive compounds to potions. Before, potions had been far out of my reach but now that I had access to Grimmauld Place’s library, brewing them had easily become one of my favorite pastimes. Of course, it always helped that they had so much in common with chemistry and I had the mature brain of an almost eleven-year-old. There were reactants and products and certain factors that could cause the reaction to either go one way or end in something completely different. I allowed myself to experiment with both, mixing and intermingling them at every chance I got. 

I was engaged in one of these experiments as I watched the purple liquid churn inside my cauldron with single-minded and slightly-worrying intensity. I lifted my hand, carefully tilting the vial I was holding so that the liquid was just barely about to drip into my concoction. 

My brows furrowed in concentration, I muttered jumbled instructions to myself.

“After the gillyweed… just a little… no need to blow up the house… steady, steady, stea-”

DING DONG

“Holy bloody hell!” I cursed, jumping several feet into the air, arms flailing, and vial slipping from my fingers. It landed on the floor next to the cauldron, thank Merlin for small mercies, and shattered. 

I just stared at it from where I was standing, arms brought up protectively and one leg raised in a semi-stork position, several feet away.

“That was the last of my doxy tears,” I whined softly. Realizing how ridiculous I looked, I decided to go find out who could have possibly rung the doorbell. I hadn't even noticed there was one, much less expected someone else to ring it. 

Straightening my clothes and recomposing myself, I made my way through the small door that separated my lab from the rest of the attic and towards the staircase. I had asked Kreacher to build the divider for me and install several good vents so that the fumes and ‘accidents’ that sometimes occurred with my experimentation would not spill over into my room. 

Speaking of the house-elf, I ran into him sweeping the floor at the base of the stairs on the ground floor. Figuring he would know more about what was going on than I did, I stepped in front of him to catch his attention. 

“Hey Kreacher, you wouldn’t happen to know who is at the door would you?” I asked carefully. If he had invited someone over and not warned me about it beforehand, I was going to roast his behind. I took interruptions to my ‘me time’ very seriously.

“Why would Kreacher know who comes to see the Mistress? Kreacher is just the house-elf.” The last part of his answer was slightly mocking but I paid it no heed.

“So… you didn’t ask any of you little elf friends to come over or anything?” This time there was no ignoring the scowl on his pinched, discolored face as he spat his reply. 

“Kreacher has time only to serve the most Noble and Ancient House of Black.” He finally paused his cleaning, his sharp eyes turning to me. “Pity ‘little Mistress’ is heir.” 

“Sounds like an awfully sad life you’ve got going there.” I shrugged. “Oh well, I guess that means I actually have to open the door then!” With that exclamation, I reached into my front pocket and pulled out a little bottle of what I referred to as my ‘just-in-case-some-pedophile-tries-to-attack-me-weapon’ and headed towards the door. 

Standing on my toes, I looked through the peep-hole. For a moment, the only thought that passed through my mind was that the woman from the portrait had come after me and was standing on my doorstep. After some closer inspection, I noticed that, although she appeared severe, this woman was wearing dark green, not the black from the painting, and was quite a bit thinner than her two-dimensional counterpart. 

 

I carefully turned the knob and cracked the door open an inch. 

“Can I help you?” I asked warily. 

“I am Professor McGonagall and am visiting you on behalf of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. If you would be so kind as to let me in, I would like to clarify any questions that you may have and present you with your acceptance letter.” Her scottish lilt was steady and allowed no room for arguments. Definitely a schoolteacher.

“Wand please,” I demanded, sticking my hand out through the narrow opening. 

“Now, I hardly think that’s necess-”

“You may look like an innocent old lady but you could be a psychopathic mass-murderer for all I know. No wand means no entry. Wand please.” I repeated, holding my gaze steady and my resolve set. 

She looked quite offended but handed me her wand. I nodded to myself as I held it ready, a defensive spell on the tip of my tongue, and swung the door open to allow a complete stranger into my house for the first time. 

McGonagall POV

My pace was brisk and my face impassive to mask my turbulent thoughts as I made my way down Hogwarts’ various stone corridors. Dumbledore’s words had left me both stinging with betrayal and nursing the faintest hopes that maybe it would be different this time. Maybe this one could be a Ravenclaw? Or, better yet, a Hufflepuff? Anything but the two houses that held so much history with that particular family. 

I jerked my thoughts back to more positive topics and inwardly cursed the wise, old headmaster for his innate ability to get under people’s skin. He could whisper in your ear and leave an itch that wouldn’t go away until you did whatever he asked. Even worse was that it always ended up being good for you in the end. What was usually a testament to how great of a wizard he was turned to be a rather grating talent when I was on the receiving end of his riddled advice. 

Well, it was too late to be doubting myself now. The only thing left for me to do was to meet the girl myself and hope to not see the ghost of Sirius every time I looked at her. 

….. 

I arrived at a normal-looking muggle street and paused between the houses numbered eleven and thirteen. Leaning down with all the grace and dignity I could muster, I tapped the ground three times with my wand and watched number twelve, Grimmauld Place, rumble into view. 

I stood, wiping off any dust that had the audacity to cling to my robes and flattened out the small creases in my sleeves. One must always make themselves presentable when making a new acquaintance, no matter who that acquaintance may be. Then, I strode to the door and rang the bell. 

There was a long pause during which I determined that, if nothing else, Sophie Black certainly shared her lacking sense of punctuality with her father. I heard the soft click of the door being opened and held my head a little higher. Only, the door didn’t open all the way. It stopped, leaving a crack just wide enough for me to make out one large blue eye. 

When she asked me to hand over my wand, I was slightly put on-guard. However, I decided to take the request as it likely was, a statement of misunderstanding and perhaps curiosity. Having reached that conclusion, I attempted to gently correct her assumptions but was interrupted before I could. 

“You may look like an innocent old lady but you could be a psychopathic mass-murderer for all I know. No wand means no entry. Wand please.” 

Innocent old lady? Old lady? I felt my fingers twitch in irritation and had to fight to keep my expression neutral. Despite the fact that I wanted to inform her of exactly why the term “old lady” did not fit a gryffindor, proud member of the Order of the Phoenix, and one of the few who had fought Voldemort from the beginning to the day where he took his last vile breath, I resisted. If I was correct in believing that this girl was quite stubborn and had a much more comprehensive view of the world than your average almost eleven-year-old, I would need to put forward an offering of trust before I could expect anything in return. Unfortunately, she demanded something highly personal that most witches and wizards would refuse to part with, but it had to be done. Pushing away my unease, I handed her my wand and, as she moved aside, entered the house. 

What greeted me was something entirely unexpected. Whether you knew them personally or not, certain things about the Blacks were just common knowledge. One of these ‘universal facts’ was that the Blacks were not particularly cheery people. They suffered from fits of rage, a penchant towards the dark arts, and a love of everything, well, black. 

That being as it was, I could not fathom what hell had frozen over for that very same family to paint their entryway a happy sky-blue, not to mention the gaping hole in the wall a few feet from the front door.

In my distraction, Sophie had begun to climb the stairs directly down the hall from where I was standing. Closing the door behind me, I, without haste, moved to catch up with her. 

We only ascended one flight before she led me to a large, Godric help us all, bright red sitting room. The floors were a dark wood and the couches a soft black leather, positioned so they faced the fire place, but the walls remained an obnoxious, fire-engine red. I found myself to be caught in an inner war between the lion in me that applauded the house colours and the rational woman who found them a bit painful to look at. 

Once again, I had to pull myself back to the present as Sophie hopped onto the nearest sofa, using my own wand to point me to the seat across from hers. 

Sitting down, I got my first real chance to inspect this strange girl. For all intensive purposes, she looked to be a Black heiress gone rogue. Something about the structure of her bones and the pallor of her skin would forever identify her as one of the upper class but her slouching posture, the tangled mop of hair on her head, her practical muggle clothing, and her too-mature mannerisms all worked to convince me otherwise. I, at least, had been right in assuming that she would have her father’s eyes. They were the exact same shade of light blue that sometimes shifted to grey with a distinct glint that always bred trouble. Luckily, Sophie’s homelife was nothing like Sirius’, so there would be no need for her to rebel against her family through excessive rule-breaking. Perhaps this child had managed to avoid inheriting those awful, disruptive habits. 

“So…” she started, her expression giving nothing away, “you said something about a letter?”

“Of course,” I replied, clearing my throat. “As I mentioned earlier, I am visiting you today on behalf of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to inform you that you have been accepted into our first year class.” Reaching into my sleeve, I pulled out an envelope addressed to the girl before me in flowing cursive ink and stamped with the school insignia. She looked at me expectantly, as if I was going to stand, walk across the room, hand it to her, and then return to my original position. I merely raised an eyebrow and extended an arm. She had a good pair of legs, it was about time she learnt to use them. 

Huffing slightly, Sophie approached me, never releasing her guarded posture, and took the letter. I did not wait until she was reseated to continue from where I had left off. 

“Enclosed, you will find a note composed by our Headmaster Albus Dumbledore as well as a list of all of the supplies you will need for your classes,” I explained, maintaining steady eye-contact. “Normally, I would only be providing assistance to the muggleborn new students, but the headmaster felt it necessary for me to guide you to Diagon Alley where you shall purchase your supplies. I have also been entrusted with your Gringotts key so that you may withdraw the needed sum from your account.” Having finished my explanation, all that was left for me to do was wait. I watched as her expression slowly thawed, something in that envelope finally managing to convince her that I was not, in fact, a threat. Little did I know she still kept a certain rather dangerous bottle grasped firmly in her hand, just in case. 

“Alright,” she affirmed, “I’m guessing you know how to apparate?” Her now openly-curious eyes traveled to once again meet mine and the childish innocence of the gesture threw me unexpectedly back into a past. There was a time during which those sames eyes had looked to me, begging and pleading for guidance, fighting to free themselves from the past that bound them like chains. I had failed that child but I swore right then and there that I would not fail this one. 

“Indeed I do,” I responded. “If you would please take hold of my arm, we shall be on our way.”

…   
Unlike most of the students I escorted through Diagon Alley, Sophie did not appear surprised or impressed in the slightest. I assumed that it was not her first time walking these streets as even she would not have had enough self-control to hold back her excitement it it was.

We passed window after window filled with everything from strange gadgets to racing brooms to preserved eel hearts until we reached the Goblins’ sanctuary, Gringotts. There, I finally managed to elicit a response from the girl when I showed her her vault and handed her a pouch full of gold galleons. She was slack-jawed as she stared at the little key and bag in her hands.

“So all of that is mine?” she asked hopefully as we exited the bank.

“Naturally.” I replied. 

“And it’s all legal?” Her query took me entirely by surprise.

“Pardon me?” I asked, hoping to hear differently the second time. What would a ten-year-old know about illegal money?

“You know… I mean it’s nothing Mundungus could have gotten his paws on is it?” 

“Mundungus? As in Mundungus Fletcher? How in Godric’s name do you know about Mundungus Fletcher?” I exclaimed, entirely outraged and appalled. Clearly this child was in much more need of guidance than Dumbledore has suspected if that was the company she kept. 

“No need to get so upset about it,” she drawled and then rolled her eyes. The blasted child had the nerve to roll her eyes at me! “He’s quite a good contact to have once you get past his smell and.. well… general appearance. I’ve never had someone sell something for me so quickly.” This was her justification.

“What exactly would someone of your age be needing Mundungus’ aid to sell?” I asked, enunciating every word clearly and curtly; a sure sign that an incorrect response on her part could lead to unpleasant consequences.

“Anything really,” she answered vaguely. “I only keep things I consider to be useful.”

“And what, pray tell, would you classify as ‘useful’?” I inquired, taken aback.

“Oh you know, the usual,” she said airily, glancing through the merchandise in the nearby displays. “Spell books, potions books, ingredients for potions, and anything that can make anything else go boom.” I froze, trying to formulate some kind of a cohesive reply to her answer. I never had a chance as she suddenly stopped in front of the apothecary and turned to face me. 

“Well, I guess this is where I’m going to leave you, I should be fine on my own from here. Thanks for meeting with me and I can’t wait to see you at Hogwarts, Professor!” With a flourish, she left. Just like that, I had been ‘ditched,’ as the students would say. 

That was the moment I realized I had been wrong to compare Sophie to her father at this age. Oh no, this girl was far, far worse. 

Sophie POV

I ran through Diagon Alley, hurrying to get everything I needed so that I could use the rest of my money at the apothecary. There was a reason I never came here, muggles were easy to steal from, but wizards? That was practically impossible. The ones located here had big names and too many detection spells I couldn’t counter because I didn’t know enough magic. On top of that, I never had enough money to actually get anything I wanted the legal way, so it was usually no fancy wizarding shops for me. This time though, the coins in my purse jingled happily as I skipped down the street.

My next stop was Ollivander's, where I spent the most awkward twenty minutes of my life with the only adult I’d ever met who was shorter than I was. I left with an eleven-and-a-half inch wand made with hawthorn and a dragon heartstring core. The strange little man had warned me that both materials could be rather unpredictable and would require a boatload of patience to master. It was quite wonderful really, trust me to get the most temperamental wand in the entire shop. 

Once I was done wasting my pocket change, I went home and essentially did absolutely nothing productive for the next week and a half until my alarm rung on the morning of August first. My luggage packed, I ran downstairs, praying the whole way that Tasaria would not be late, only to release the breath I had been holding when I found her in the entryway. 

We apparated right outside of King’s Cross station and sped towards the platform. Just as I was heading towards the brick wall that I knew would lead me to the Hogwarts express, I paused. Excitement and nerves bounced around inside my head the way Kreacher bounced around the house the first and only time I ever gave him coffee. It was no big deal, I was only going to be surrounded by people my age 24/7 when I had never spoken with one for more than a few minutes before. It would all be just fine. Hardening my resolve, I muttered some last words of encouragement.

“Here goes nothing.”


	5. Chapter 5

I took a deep breath and readied myself to jump through the wall leading to the platform, only to be shoved roughly to the side. A flash of red and obnoxious laughter were all I caught before Tasaria blocked my line of sight, holding out a hand to help me up. 

“Damn stupid kids,” I growled, “remind me again why I thought this would be fun?”

“You’re the one who wanted to go to school,” she remarked unsympathetically. “Now you’re the one who’s going to have to deal with the brats.” Leaving me to my misery, she strode through the barrier to deposit my luggage next to the train. 

The action having lost all significance, I dusted myself off and walked briskly through the bricks and onto the platform. My first instinct was to cover my ears as the noise level practically doubled. The air was filled with the high pitch whining sounds that only children are capable of making and the half sobbed instructions emotional parents were trying to squeeze in last minute. For Merlin’s sake, they were going to boarding school not Narnia! This was absolutely ridiculous!

Looking around, I found Tasaria a little ways down waiting by one of the train’s open doorways. She was fairly easy to spot in a sea of English men and women. Wizards or not, the English had a very distinctive look and air about them that made her stand out as if she had a neon sign above her head that read FOREIGNER in big letters. Of course the completely indiscrete whispering and pointing certainly didn’t help. 

“Are you ready to go?” she asked as I got closer. Nodding stiffly, we stared at each other in silence for a little while before I picked up my bags and started trying to heave them up the steps and onto the train. I risked a backwards glance but found no one there. Sighing, I decided to just focus on what I was doing. There would be plenty of time later to wallow at our less than stellar goodbye. 

Once I finally made it onto the train I walked down a ways until I reached an empty compartment where I collapsed readily into one of the wonderfully cushiony seats. This day was supposed to have been exciting and I should have been dancing with nerves the way I was earlier but for some reason I just felt tired. ‘Well,’ I thought to myself, ‘It’s the school’s fault for making the departure time so bloody early.’ My one constant, I was not and would never be a morning person.

…

“Hey it’s you! The girl with the gypsy!” That rude exclamation jolted me suddenly from my nap. Funny, I hadn’t even realized I had fallen asleep. 

I opened my bleary eyes to find a blonde boy’s face way too close to mine. Not one to back off, I dropped my head forwards connecting my forehead with his nose. The boy yelped and scrambled backwards nearly trampling the little girl I hadn’t noticed was standing next to him. Some might call me hypocritical because we all looked to be about the same age but this girl truly was little. The top of her head would have reached my shoulder had I been standing and her messy, straight, brown hair gave her a generally mousey look. 

“What was that for!” yelled the indignant boy, bringing my attention back to him. He was standing on the other side of the compartment, light brown eyes sparking with fury and one hand raised to his nose. 

“You invaded my air space” I reasoned calmly, tilting my head to the side in feigned disinterest. 

“Guess I shouldn’t expect anything better from someone who got here with a gypsy...” he sneered. So much for being nice. 

I stood to my full height and took a step forwards. My eyes hardened into two shards of cold ice as they focused on the arrogant little twit. 

“Do you have a problem with that?” I asked slowly and tonelessly. Fidgeting nervously, the boy seemed unable to find a response and so the tension between us hung in the air menacingly. In the end it was neither he nor I that broke it.

“Umm…” stumbled the mousey girl, “w-what’s so bad about gypsies? Aren’t they just nomads?” She averted her eyes immediately when we both turned to her. I guess she was as shy as her appearance would suggest but that was alright, shy I could deal with.

“Muggle born?” I inquired. She nodded her head slightly in response. “Then you probably wouldn’t know, but in the wizarding world the word “gypsy” has a slightly different meaning. It’s not just a way of life but actually a different species,” I explained. “Just like the veela and centaurs they’re classified as magical creatures that only appear human.”

Her eyes widened as she mulled that over. “So they’re nothing at all like our, the muggle I mean, gypsies?”

“Well, there are several similarities,” I clarified. “As far as appearances go they look pretty much the same, bright colored clothing with lots of scarves and beads all over the place, so it’d be pretty easy to get them mixed up if you didn’t know what to look for.” A realization hit me as I was talking. “Actually, I’m pretty sure the gypsies in our world are what gives the ones in yours such a bad reputation. You see, their magic is wandless and they’re notorious thieves by nature who are incapable of forming real attachments to anything,” mentally running through what I could and couldn’t say I continued. “They live in clans but only meet up a couple of times a year and are extremely exclusive. Basically, if you’re not a gypsy you’re entertainment, something to be enjoyed but never taken seriously.” 

“You say ‘they’ but you know so much about them, does that mean you’re one too?” she asked slyly, her brows rising slightly in challenge. Taken aback, I realized there was a large possibility I had underestimated this girl. 

“Don’t be stupid,” the twit from before interrupted. What a shame, I had almost forgotten he was there. “Of course she’s not a gypsy! Didn’t you hear her say their magic is wandless? That’s not just for show it literally means they’re incapable of using wands,” he snapped. 

“Oh, s-sorry,” she stammered, gluing her eyes back to the floor. 

“Don’t worry about it,” I sighed, “he’s just being an arse.” I flicked my gaze over to the blonde boy, daring him to comment. He didn’t. “Plus you were mostly right, I do know a lot more than I should and that’s because I’ve been traveling with a gypsy for a while now.”

Smiling thankfully at me she stretched out her hand and introduced herself, “I’m Melanie by the way, nice to meet you!” I didn’t hesitate to shake it.

“Sophie Black.”

“Black?” the oh so annoying one yet again interrupted. “As in the House of Black? But I thought they were all dead!”

“No,” I deadpanned, “I was clearly referencing the way I like my coffee.” My sarcasm had no effect as he just stared at me blankly. Sighing, I seemed to be doing that a lot lately, I turned to face him fully. “While we’re at it might as well throw your own sickle into the pile. What would your name be?” It was good information to have even if I only ever used it to avoid him later. 

“I’m Miles Bletchley. My father works at the ministry with Mr. Malfoy himself, you’ve heard of us I’m sure.” His smug smile practically split his face in half as he gloated. This was going to come back later to bite me in the arse, I really shouldn’t do it but I couldn’t resist. 

“Can’t say I have Beltchy, I must have missed him.” I remarked casually.

“It’s Bletchley,” he corrected.

“Of course, Beltchy.”

“No,” he snarled, narrowing his eyes. “It’s Bletchley, Miles Bletchley.”

I pretended to pause, wrinkling my brow in frustration and making it seem as if I was deep in thought. After a good handful of seconds, I allowed myself to relax as ‘realization’ slowly crept into my eyes. 

“I’ve got it!” I exclaimed. “Vile Beltchy it is then!”

Not willing to stick around and hear the fireworks go off just yet, I turned on my heel and left the compartment. I hadn’t done much exploring when I first got on the train, preferring to take a nap instead, so I had some catching up to do. As far as I could tell, it wasn’t going to be nearly as exciting as I had hoped. The inside of the train consisted of a long hallway with sets of doors running up and down both sides. Each door led to a compartment where, more often than not, at least four students sat crowded together catching up on what happened over the summer or, in the case of first years, chattering nervously. I dreaded having to stay in close quarters with that particular age group for any length of time. They all reminded me of rodents. Squirmy, squeaky, under-evolved rodents. All the same, I was determined to at least give them a chance. I had promised myself to not be openly hostile towards anyone unless they deserved it. If nothing else, they should at least be useful as testers to run my experiments on. I think the term ‘lab rats’ would fit just fine. 

In a much better mood after having reached that conclusion, I slipped into an empty compartment hoping to get some more sleep. I barely had time to shut the door behind me when the sound of loud footsteps came barreling down the hall. Just as the noise began to pass me, it stopped and the door was swung open. For the second time that day, all I managed to catch was a flash of red before I was shoved to the floor and a hand thrown across my mouth. A loud shushing noise filled my ear as I struggled to free myself from not one, but two pairs of arms that were holding me down. Street instincts taking over, I sunk my teeth into the hand that was gagging me at the same time I kicked out with both feet. I felt the weight of the two attackers leave my chest and heard their muffled grunts as they landed at my feet, one clutching his hand and the other his stomach. 

“Bloody hell! what was that for!” the one holding his hand shouted. 

“Are you mad, woman!” the other continued. Wait, no… that was the first one… but he couldn’t be in two places at once. Maybe I did hit my head when I fell. As the adrenaline wore off, I blinked my eyes slowly a couple times before I could get a clear picture of what was going on. 

Before me sat two redheaded boys. They were identical in every way right down to the last freckle and looked to be about my age. Their dark brown eyes, currently clouded in anger, contained a certain spark that any prankster could identify. Add to that the fact that they had come running in here like the devil was on their tails and immediately ducked behind the door, likely hiding from someone, and it was pretty easy to figure out that these two were up to no good. Great, competition. 

“Maybe next time you’ll warn someone before you jump on them and pin them to the floor,” I snorted. They just glared at me. Well, here was my chance to try and practice some of my social skills, if I had any. “So do you have names or should I just call you Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum?”

Surprisingly, they smirked.

“I don’t know, Fred? Do we know our names?” the one on the right asked.

“I sure know my name George, how about you?” the other mimicked. They kept doing some irritating tilting thing with their head that made them look synchronized even when they were saying different things. 

“Well then I guess we better introduce ourselves, I’m Gred-”

“Which makes me Forge-”

“Weasley.” Well that has got to be the stupidest thing I’ve seen all day, I thought to myself as they sang the last word together. Big cheesy grins on their faces, arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders, and eyes shining happily they made a rather disturbing image that left me somewhere between irritated and amused. 

“So…” I tried again, reminding myself over and over again to be nice and friendly, “who were you running from?”

“Just then?” Tweedle Dee asked. “Oh, that was just Perfect Percy. We might have put a little surprise in his trunk.” He smirked.

“Right now though, we’re running from you” Tweedle Dum said with a certain innocent tone that made him sound anything but. 

I frowned slightly, confused. 

“Why would you be running from me?” I scowled and crossed my arms. “I’m not going to hit you again if that’s what you mean.”

“Maybe not yet,” the first started.

“But how about now?” they finished together, bolting for the door and slamming it shut behind them. I didn’t have time to wonder what their damage was as a little ball came rolling out from where they had been standing until it came to a lazy stop at my feet. By the time I realized what it was it was too late and the ball shattered, making the cabin explode into a burst of color as pink powder was spewed in every direction. I stood there in my now pink cabin with pink clothes, pink hair and pink skin that was itchy and uncomfortable. Squeezing my eyes shut, I fought against every instinct I had and attempted to calm down. The worst thing I could do right now was get angry; it would mean I had lost. No, I would not let these maggots ruin my first day and I sure as hell was not going to let them think they had won.

…

After spending a good hour in the bathroom getting rid of all of the powder and changing into my school robes, I realized at least one good thing had come of this. I had mastered ‘scourgify’. Who knew, that Sophie Black, nightmare child from hell, would excel at cleaning charms. I glanced out the closest window and noticed I had finished just in time, the train was pulling into the station. 

I followed all of the other students out onto the platform and began moving with the herd towards a set of carriages tied to terrifying winged horses. I was stopped short as a booming voice reached my ears. 

“Firs’ years! This way firs’ years! Follow me!” The instructions were coming from a giant of a man with a large shaggy beard that covered most of his face. Each of his hands were the size of my head and his comparatively small eyes sent quite a few eleven-years olds scampering in fright. Frankly I was rather relieved; the strange horses by the carriages were scarier. 

He led us to a set of boats resting on the surface of a lake. The water was so still it looked like black glass. 

“No more’n four t’a boat,” he shouted. I picked the closest one to me and sat down. I hadn’t met anyone on the train that I particularly wanted to sit with so I figured I’d just let fate decide.

“Hey look, it’s the bird from earlier,” a vaguely familiar voice exclaimed. I felt the boat shift as two people made themselves comfortable behind me. 

“Right you are, Forge! Do you reckon she’s still mad?” Screw you, fate. Next time, I’ll choose for myself who I’m going to be stuck with. 

“Hey! Hey! You’re not too upset, right? It was just a little joke!” Tweedle Dee pestered, trying to get my attention. I could see the top of his head bobbing up and down in my peripheral vision, his bouncing making the entire boat shake. 

“Ya! No need to take it so personally!” Merlin, this was getting irritating. Maybe I should just turn around to make them shut up. From my position facing the front of the boat I tried to focus on the rocky hills that were getting closer and closer as we floated forwards in a pack behind the giant. My sightseeing kept being interrupted by two little specks of orange, one on each side, that continued to bounce up and down as they steadily got closer. The color reminded me of carrots. I hate carrots. And that’s when it hit me.

“Carrot-top,” I smiled glancing backwards. “I’ll call you carrot-top!”

For whatever reason, that seemed to give them pause.

“Which one of us?” the one closest to me asked.

“You mean there’s a difference?” I deadpanned. 

That finally got to them as they huffed in unison (who even does that?) and turned away. After a while of sitting in complete silence, I began to feel a small nagging in the back of my head. Maybe I had been too harsh? I shook my head vigorously in denial. No, I was not going to take back my words, I wasn’t! I made the mistake of peeking behind me towards the other passengers of the boat only to find them sitting, motionless, with frowns on their identical faces. They looked so… put out. Goddamnit! I’d spent my entire life without a conscience and now of all times it decided to show up? Sighing heavily, I shifted restlessly from side to side before blurting out the first thing that came to mind. 

“It’s kind of cold.”

The twin on the right lifted his head slightly, hopeful expression on his face. 

“A little,” he murmured before immediately turning back to fix his gaze on his feet. 

They were rather pathetic really, getting depressed and mopey about some comment that a random stranger made. In fact, I was having a hard time believing it was authentic. I narrowed my eyes at them, looking for the tell tale signs of crocodile tears. 

There were no held back tears, no trembling lips, no over exaggerated signs of obviously faked distress. The twins just looked… sad. Either they were legitimately upset or very good actors. I let out a frustrated groan.

“For Merlin’s sake, like you said, it’s just a joke. There’s no reason to get your knickers in a twist.” I snapped, finally getting tired of the depressed aura oozing from the idiots behind me.

At that they finally burst into a grin. Simultaneously. Seriously, I was never going to get used to that. 

“Don’t worry about it, we don’t get mad!” The one on the left shouted.

“Ya!” his counterpart agreed. As they talked, they jumped to either side of me, making me slightly uncomfortable, and each grabbed one of my hands. 

Not used to much human contact, I found myself inching backwards nervously as my claustrophobia kicked in. Unfortunately for me, I hadn’t realized the second twin was still talking. His smile wide and eyes shining he continued.

“We get even.” 

As soon as his words registered in my mind I lurched away from them but was held back. Not only were there two of them, but my own stupidity had already put me in a rather disadvantaged position when I hadn’t pulled away immediately. That being as it was, I soon found myself tumbling backwards into the water. 

I had thought it was cold outside but that was nothing compared to the frigid lake. Within seconds I was both drenched and shivering as I sank like a rock. These arseholes had dumped me in the bloody lake to drown! At the rate the boats were moving by the time I pushed myself back to the surface they would be far away and Merlin knows I couldn’t swim well in these blasted robes. In other words, not only would I arrived drenched and trembling but also only half clothed. 

That was when my back hit the bottom and I realized the water was only a few feet deep. Standing up, I looked around and noticed we had already arrived at the base of the castle. Oh, and most of the first years were laughing their arses off.

Motherfuckers.

Eventually, with all of the dignity of a wet cat, I stomped out onto the shore and headed towards the castle. The two devils’ obnoxious laughter followed me as I left, never more than a couple of steps away. 

As if it couldn’t get any worse, I spotted a familiar woman in green robes standing by the large front doors. Shuffling forwards with the crowd, I grudgingly approached her until we were only a few feet apart. I stood dripping, angry, and disheveled but refusing to lower my head. We had not yet exchanged a word and so the silent battle of wills began. I stared defiantly into McGonagall's eyes while she frowned in disapproval. The strict witch raised an eyebrow.

“Decided to take a swim, now did we?” 

…

One exaresco and a rather long explanation about the different houses later, I found myself waiting with the first years to be called into the main hall. McGonagall had just left and we were about to find out how we would be sorted. I could hear the nervous murmurs building in volume as the speculation became wilder and wilder. Some said we would have to fight a dragon to earn our place in one of Hogwarts’ houses while others were certain we would be asked to recite the entire content of our textbooks from memory. Either way, I just wanted it to be done. I got the feeling that the dorms were going to be my new favorite place, seeing as the only time these little brats ever shut up was when they were asleep. 

I was shaken from my thoughts by the dead silence. Or maybe all I needed was to have McGonagall enter the room because that apparently did the trick. 

“Follow me,” she enunciated, clearly sounding very much like the school teacher she was. 

We trailed behind her like a flock of ducklings and even I found myself staring, open mouthed, at the room we entered.

The first word that came to mind was huge. Four long tables stood side by side, seating what must have been the entire school. A large banner hung above each, showing off proudly to which house it belonged. The ceiling, that’s what really got me, glowed with the dark blues and purples of the evening sky. It showed the first stars twinkling softly between the floating candles. And, yes, I did mean floating candles. There were hundreds of them suspended in the air and lighting the room. 

We were guided to the very front of the hall and made to line up neatly. We watched with amazement as McGonagall walked away from us and up to a stool that sat alone between the students and the teachers’ table that ran perpendicular to the four others in front of it. Surely nothing could ruin the absolute-

Oh you may not think me pretty,  
But don't judge on what you see,  
Wait.. what? Who was singing? Stop it you’re ruining the moment!!

I'll eat myself if you can find  
A smarter hat than me.

Hat? A hat was making all that racket? I looked around and suddenly noticed the old, ratty thing on the very stool McGonagall had just moved next to. I was no stranger to magic but this was weird, even for me. 

There's nothing hidden in your head  
The Sorting Hat can't see,  
So try me on and I will tell you  
Where you ought to be.

In my head? No, I certainly did not like the sound of that. This school had no business poking around my personal thoughts. They must have been daft to think I would actually go along with this!

Clearly, I hadn’t been hiding my discomfort as well as I had thought because I felt a slight nudge in my side. Glancing over, I locked eyes with the girl from the train. Melanie, was it?

“Don’t worry,” she whispered. “The hat was charmed by the four founders to sort children into their houses. It was also charmed to not reveal anything it saw in a student’s mind, to ensure privacy and all that.” I blinked slowly.

“Where did you hear that?” I asked, probably a little louder than was appropriate. She winced at my volume and glanced around nervously. 

“‘Hogwarts: A History.’” 

Studying her closely, I decided she had no reason to lie to me and slowly nodded my head. I turned back to the hat and waited for it to finish its song. 

Or perhaps in Slytherin  
You'll make your real friends,  
Those cunning folks use any means  
To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!  
And don't get in a flap!  
You're in safe hands (though I have none)  
For I'm a Thinking Cap! 

The hall erupted into applause as the hat fell silent and McGonagall finally stepped forward. All it took was a wave of her hand to quiet the rowdy students. 

“Let the sorting begin. Andrews, Melanie.”

“I guess that’s me,” Melanie whispered, her face turning white. She straightened her back and walked almost mechanically up to the stool before sitting down. McGonagall placed the too-big hat on her head and it slipped forward to cover her eyes completely. She sat there, unmoving, until the hat shouted out its verdict. 

“RAVENCLAW”

Can’t say I didn’t see that coming, I thought to myself as the table beneath the blue banner erupted into cheers. That didn’t seem so bad… until I realized we were probably going in alphabetical order. But surely there were more A’s, at least a few more people would go before I was called up.

“Black, Sophie.”

Or not. 

Of course, the name Black set off a string of indiscrete murmurs of surprise and I felt myself walk up to the stool under the scrutiny of every eye in that room. I ignored them best I could and repressed my urges to prank the hell out of them. That’s right, all I had to do this year was stay calm and never leave enough evidence to get caught. Screw them and what they thought. With that firmly in mind, I watched everything go dark as the sorting hat obscured my vision. 

“My, my what do we have here…” a gravely voice asked inside my head. I was really not enjoying this.

“Look, can you just get on with this?” I thought furiously. “If you’re going to be violating my privacy I’d rather you do it as quickly as possible.” 

“Temper, temper,” the hat chided, utterly entertained. Is it possible to hate an object so much that you wish it were alive just so you could kill it? “There’s no need to get violent. Well, at least we know Hufflepuff’s not for you. How about Ravenclaw then? Your friend was certainly suited to it…”

“Sure, whatever you say, oh wise one,” I mentally drawled. 

“No, that won’t do, you’re much too… well, I won’t finish that sentence, for your sake.” Great, now it was insulting me too. “Clever enough for Slytherin but not very ambitious, are you?”

“I’m more of a go-with-the-flow kind of person, but if I have to tell you that you must not be very good at your job. Tell me, have you ever considered being a wall decoration instead?” My sarcasm must have been lost on him as a loud laugh filled my head. 

“Oh yes, I have the perfect place for you, better be… GRYFFINDOR!” 

Sporadic, polite applause met that exclamation as I made my way to my new house’s table. I sat a good few seats away from the closest students and let my thoughts drift as the sorting continued. There was still the occasional covert glance in my direction or suspicious glare but it looked like I was going to be left alone, for now at least. A my lips curved into a small smile as I wondered how many… warnings… I would have to give before they realized I was not to be messed with. 

In my distraction, I had not noticed the last two children being sorted into Gryffindor. In fact, I didn’t snap back to attention until I felt the very heavy weight of two arms being dropped onto my shoulders followed by the red-headed boys taking up the seats on either side of me. Even though the other first years had sat close they had wisely left the spots to my immediate right and left empty. These two, on the other hand, had different ideas. 

“So birdie, did ya miss us?” the one to my right asked, his face broken into one giant grin. 

“Or should we call you, Miss Black?” the other smirked.

“We must apologize sincerely of course for our previous actions,” he sighed, “that was no way at all to behave in front of a lady, was it, Sir Forge?”

“Of course not, Sir Gred,” the first agreed, nodding enthusiastically, “From this moment on we shall act with utmost courtesy towards our esteemed guessed.” He finished dramatically with a deep bow of his head and his hand over his heart. I had a hard time keeping back my amusement. Maybe these two weren’t so bad afterall. 

Soon after, the headmaster gave a short but confusing speech and plates full of delicious looking food appeared on the table in front of me. I could feel my mouth watering just from looking at it. 

Once my plate was stacked nice and high with everything I wanted, I took a moment to just stare at it in contentment. Sure, kids were annoying as hell and sure, I was probably going to get a lot of crap from the student body because of what my dad did, but good food could cure anything. It certainly fixed today. I lifted my fork to take a bite but it was unnecessary as it was already in my mouth. Actually quite a bit of food was already in my mouth as my face had been shoved into my plate. Loud guffawing and the sound of a high-five could be heard on either side of me and above my head as the twins enjoyed their victory.

I felt heat slowly creeping up my neck to my ears as I trembled slightly in anger. This was the third time, the third time that they had pulled this kind of shit on me. I had been nice. I had been patient. I had done everything in my power to restrain myself and be a good child. I had reached my limit.

This. Means. WAR.


End file.
